


cored to empty

by wreckingmotorcars



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belly Kink, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Stress Eating, Stuffing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 01:00:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckingmotorcars/pseuds/wreckingmotorcars
Summary: "Whatever he was expecting, it’s not what he finds. Ginny’s crying, curled up on the floor of her suite’s kitchen. She’s got a nearly-empty gallon of ice cream, and she’s shoveling it into her mouth like she’s starving. Her eyes are red, her hair down and wild, and her belly—Jesus. It’s so swollen she looks pregnant, an arc from her ribs to her hips. The hem of her shirt is stuck around her belly button. The bare skin of her stomach is almost shiny with how tight it is. It’s quivering and god help Mike, but his dick twitches at the sight.He shoves that shit down next to his daddy issues because what thefuck, and kneels down next to Ginny on the floor."AU of episode 6.





	cored to empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whowaswillbe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=whowaswillbe).



> For Kerry, who is kind enough to let me spam her gchat with ridiculous kinky fic ideas. Get well soon, bb!

It can take almost an hour to get from La Jolla to Petco when traffic is bad, but in the middle of the night it’s not so bad. Barely half an hour door-to-door. That’s still plenty of time for Mike to work himself into a frenzy.

He’s speeding as he pulls off the highway and makes the turn towards the Omni. He eases his foot off the gas and wills himself to calm down. He keeps hearing Ginny’s voice on the phone, her labored breathing. It’s hard not to speed back up. 

At the hotel, he hands his keys off to a parking attendant, and only then does it occur to him how this might look: the captain of the San Diego Padres showing up at his female rookie’s hotel at one in the morning. If there are any paps around, Mike is toast. Well. Ginny is toast, in the eyes of the public. Mike will only be toast in Al and Blip’s eyes. It’s not so bad for him, really.

The clerk at the Omni’s front desk hands Mike a key card. “Miss Baker said to tell you to go right in,” she says, then leans in. “She, um. She didn’t sound so good. Just. It’s none of my business, but, for what it’s worth.”

Mike smiles tightly and takes the key. “Thanks. Have a good night.” _Dummy, now she thinks you’re staying the night_. 

He takes the elevator up to Ginny’s suite, nerves growing each time it buzzes past a floor. She’s ok, she would have called 911 if something was really the matter. She’s just freaking out. Probably.

Whatever he was expecting, it’s not what he finds. Ginny’s crying, curled up on the floor of her suite’s kitchen. She’s got a nearly-empty gallon of ice cream, and she’s shoveling it into her mouth like she’s starving. Her eyes are red, her hair down and wild, and her belly—Jesus. It’s so swollen she looks pregnant, an arc from her ribs to her hips. The hem of her shirt is stuck around her belly button. The bare skin of her stomach is almost shiny with how tight it is. It’s quivering and god help Mike, but his dick twitches at the sight.

He shoves that shit down next to his daddy issues because what the _fuck_ , and kneels down next to Ginny on the floor. His knees creak ominously, audible even over the sound of Ginny’s sobs.

“Rookie,” he murmurs, “hey, what’s going on?”

She shoves a melty bite of ice cream into her mouth. “It’s so fucking stupid,” she chokes out, face crumpled and wet, chest heaving. “Fuck, Mike, I’m an idiot.” Another spoonful. 

Mike gently takes the carton and spoon from her and sets them out of her reach, ignoring the injured sound she makes. “Come here,” he says softly, and he’s not sure it’ll work with how things have been between them, but when he reaches for her, she collapses against his chest, sobbing into his shirt.

“I know, honey,” he says, even though he very much does not know. He strokes her back and hair, holding her like a fragile thing. Her belly must be _aching_. 

She cries and shakes against him. He murmurs soothing nonsense into her hair and lets her get his shirt all wet. 

After long minutes, she quiets. “Gin?” he says softly. 

She pulls away from him, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Don’t apologize,” Mike says. “Just—what’s going on?”

Ginny scrubs at her face. “I had a panic attack. And then when it was taking you too long to get here, I, um. I ate a lot of ice cream.”

There goes Mike’s traitor dick again. “I can see that,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. “Your stomach must hurt.”

“It does,” Ginny says, face screwing up. “Crying didn’t help either.” She presses a hand to the side of her belly, and her shirt rides up even more. She really does look huge. The way she’s sitting, the underside of her tummy nearly rests on her thighs.

“Ok.” Mike rolls up to standing, back and knees popping. “Let’s get you to bed, hm?”

He offers her a hand, and she takes it. He shivers, just lightly. She squeezes and tries to rock forward, expression pinched. “Oh, fuck,” she gasps, and collapses back against the cabinets, clutching the sides of her stomach. “Mike, I can’t, I’m too full.” 

Her cheeks are flushed and sweaty, eyes glassy, and Mike wants to throw himself out the window because all he can think about is getting his hands, his mouth, his _dick_ on that big, bloated tummy, how hot and tight it would be under his touch, how she’d probably beg—

“Ok, rook,” he says softly, and crouches back down. “Guess we’ll have to try this another way.”

“No, Mike, your knees—” but he’s already got her in a bridal carry. His knees and back are screaming, it’s true, and Ginny is panting from how the movement jostles her belly. 

“You ok?” Mike asks, and she groans, cradling her gut. 

He puts her down on her bed as gently as he possibly can. “That ok?” he says. She whimpers in response. “Rookie, talk to me.”

She breathes through her nose, eyes shut. Then they fly open. “I think I’m gonna throw up.” 

She somehow rolls off the side of the bed, staggers to the bathroom and collapses to her knees in front of the toilet, retching. 

Mike’s right behind her. He pulls her hair back and smooths a hand over her back as she vomits, wincing in sympathy. “You’re ok, honey, you’re gonna be ok.” 

She falls back against his chest and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Mike,” she pants. “Fuck.”

“I know, honey,” he soothes. He pets her hair, her arms, everywhere but her tummy. “You’re not having a good night, huh?”

She laughs ruefully. “Not even a little.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks carefully.

Ginny hesitates. “...Not really,” she whispers. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok, rook,” he says, kissing her hair. He’s being too free with his affection, he knows, but it feels so good to give. It always does, right up until it breaks his heart. “You’re ok.”

She lays against his chest, breathing deeply, for long minutes. She doesn’t smell great, but he can’t stop breathing in the scent of her hair.

Finally, she sits up, wincing. “Can you help me to bed? And maybe get me some water?” she asks. She bites her lip.

“Yeah, honey.” He stands and pulls her to her feet. Her belly is definitely still swollen, but she doesn’t look quite so much like she’ll pop if jostled the wrong way. 

She smooths a hand over it and makes a face. “God. I was hoping throwing up would have at least taken care of this.”

Mike bites his tongue. He longs to touch. Instead, he wraps an arm around her waist and helps her shuffle to bed. 

“I’ll get your water,” he says, helping her lay down. “Just give me a sec.”

 

In the kitchen, he presses his face against the cool stainless steel of the refrigerator and breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth. His mind is full of the image of Ginny’s small, capable hands pressed to her full, her _overfull_ tummy. He’s never—this is so far outside the realm of what his dick usually takes interest in that he doesn’t even know where to _start_.

He gets Ginny her water. He’s definitely got a Google Incognito window waiting for him at home, but regardless of what his stupid dick wants, he’s got a rookie to take care of.

She’s close to dozing off when he gets back to her room. 

“Drink a little of this, your mouth is gonna taste awful when you wake up,” Mike murmurs. He helps her sit up a little and guides the glass for her.

She’s panting again when she lays back. “God, no more liquid, nothing else in my stomach,” she complains. She burps against her hand. “Excuse me,” she says. Mike’s dick pays attention.

“Can I do anything else for you?” he asks. He needs to go home and do some reckoning with himself.

Ginny bites her lip. “Can you—this is stupid, nevermind.”

“What is it?”

She reaches for him, takes one of his hands in one of hers. “Can you rub my belly? It still hurts.” Her voice is small and soft and he can’t say no to her at the best of times, let alone when she looks at him with those big eyes and uses that voice on him.

Mike sits down next to her and takes a deep breath. He lays his hand on her tummy so lightly at first he can barely feel anything but warmth. 

She sighs, rolling onto her side. She pulls him in behind her so he’s straight-up spooning her. “That feels good.”

Mike hasn’t prayed since he was a little boy, but he sends a quick one up now that she doesn’t notice his dick doing a fucking salute behind her, and starts rubbing her tummy in gentle circles. 

“That’s perfect,” she murmurs, already drifting into sleep. “You’re good at this.”

She’s out like a light within minutes. Mike lays awake until dawn.


End file.
